


Fluent in Miscommunication

by ToossFaiga



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basketball, Books, Childhood Friends, Elementary to High School And Beyond, F/M, Friendship, Horse Camp College, Humor With A Dash of Melodrama, I'm new to this site, Look at me ma! I'm writtin tags over here!, Slice of Life, They're gonna regret it!, Who gave me power over the tags?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25630552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToossFaiga/pseuds/ToossFaiga
Summary: Lotor met Allura on the basketball court in 5th grade, where the two became fast friends, and eventually something more. When their different paths pried them apart at the end of high school both of them simply tried to accept that they were done in silent agony. Years later they're given a chance to reconnect on the same court only to find that what once came so easy as children is quite difficult as an adult.
Relationships: Allura/Lotor (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Just For Starters

From an early age Zarkon and Hoonerva saw in their child every quality and virtue except the ones which they most desired. The boy possessed neither his father’s ruthless efficiency nor his mother’s all consuming ambition, and they soon realized that no amount of language tutors, piano scales or fencing coaches were going to change that.

Thus, they made, what was in their mind, the only logical decision. Dump their courtly mannered, Latin speaking genius of a 5th grader into the middle of the wilderness of the Virginia public school system and leave him to fend for himself.

The transition had been, as Lotor, would later recall unwelcome yet not entirely unexpected and he would handle the change the way he’d handled every other curveball life had thrown him; with an air of bored acceptance and smug supremacy. It was probably this elitist air, his blue blooded speech and a variety of other factors that made him an unbearable nuisance to almost every other student in his grade as he soon discovered.

It never did occur to him that he might’ve been a loquacious bratty imp. He was 10, and 10 is the age when you know for certain that the entire world is against you.

Lotor often thought to himself that such a dynamic was perfectly logical. He was brilliant and sharp, all his tutors told him so. His classes were easy, and by comparison his peers were so very, very…common. Every angry gaze, tightened lip and furrowed brow gave him a glimmering peak into their resentful pea brained little minds. They looked at his stiff purple collars, dazzling white locks, suffered under the oppressive weight of his intellect (at least what passes for intellect in the 5th grade) and then took comfort behind their snarls and snide comments they made in whispers just loud enough for him to overhear as he strode past.

Their final refuge, he observed was athletic in nature. As soon as their sneakers began to squeak across the polished tiles of the gym floor they began to swagger arrogantly, their smiles less contemptuous and instead possessing a more self-assured pride that there was something that the posh little rich boy couldn’t beat them at.

Eventually, one crisp autumn morning well into the first semester, he decided to take this away from them as well. He picked up a book at the high school library and decided to drop himself onto the wooden forest green bench after school directly beside the basketball court.

The library book was old, dusty and smelled suspiciously like saliva. The pages almost seemed to crack when he turned them but a book was a book, and before he knew it he was fully invested in his copy of Byron.

His father sometimes brought his work home with him, the end result of which was always an evening full of icily calm tirades directed at his employees that put the entire house on edge. At these times Lotor would retreat to the farthest corner of the manors library and curl up with a later volume of Gibbon’s _Rise and Fall_ , consumed with tales of emperors and of slaves, peace and war, ancient cities, virulent plagues, barbarians who were proclaimed kings and anything else besides the hollow gazes of his parents.

Reading was his secret world closed off from the rest of reality, a place to slip off to undetected and undisturbed. To find someone who slipped off to this same reality was akin to finding someone who’d walked that same alien landscape and who shared in the same secrets that you had.

…There would be no such camaraderie with this crowd of course.

Here they came, the obnoxious shrills of his classmates, cockily clutching their garishly colored school bags, indecorously adorned with pins and tags. He rested a hand on his knee and obscured his vision with the book as he waited.

“Excuse me your majesty!”

They went for his manners first. Predictable.

“Earth to Steven Tyler!”

Then they went after his hair, my how original.

“Hey! Lotor the Grey!”

An errant twitch ran across his face as he silently swore never again to touch the films for which his name was a perfect acronym. It wasn’t an infrequent insult the films were still in everyone’s mind, but maybe it was because he’d loved the series so much that he allowed the remarks to get to him so often. Slowly, he raised his head from his book until his face was three inches from that of his conceited competitor, chin still held high, demeanor only half interested in the situation in front of him. 

“We’d like the bench,” the boy lifted a blue bag in the air. “Y’know, to keep these out of the mud.”

A challenge disguised as a lie. Acquiesce as the wimp or refuse and play the heel.

His classmates gathered around their leader, roughly reminding him of a pack of frightened animals, wearing mean snarls and huddling together for protection.

“A study group is it then? Oh, or maybe arts and crafts club?” Lotor’s smug expression never left his face as he took great delight in watching the boys face turn an unsightly shade of pink. If they were going to issue him a challenge he was going to make them spell it out. “Making macaroni necklaces are we Throk?”

“For playing basketball dipstick!”

“Fascinating.”

“Listen asshole,” – there it was – “If you don’t move, I’m gonna…gonna,”

Lotor set the book down and rested his head on his hand, looking at the boy like a zoo exhibit, feeling untouchable, in control and on top of the world.

There was a raw thwack and a sudden cry of surprise. One second the boy was staring him down, the next his hands were clutching the back of his head as a ball spiraled through the air and returning home to a pair of dark hands.

“Ummm…are we still on to play? Or have I come at a bad time?”

The herd parted to allow the newcomer access. A girl about their age stepped through the sea clutching the orange ball with both hands. With an almost subconscious flick of her wrist she brushed a tuft of her enormous snowy white mane behind her and again snapped the ball towards the pair.

The boy’s hands flew up instinctively as he staggered slightly at the catch. With an inward huff he flicked the ball back towards her.

“Allura. We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

“And?” she asked effortlessly swiping the ball out of the air once again. “What’s the problem?”

The boys suddenly turned quiet, as if all the quality of their seething resentment and rage would be reduced if they somehow put it into mere words. The rights and rules of the playground are such serious business after all.

“Honestly I’m getting the feeling that I’m not wanted here,” Lotor interjected quickly, feeling his face grow a bit hot as he attempted to maintain a degree of poise.

“Well come on then, I’ll play with you,” Allura piped up, all smiles, her voice tinged with the barest hint of proper accent. His face flushed almost instantly. She began tossing the ball from hand to hand in a perfectly nonchalant manner.

“Allura…” one of the boys gulped audibly.

“What’s the problem? Two on two, if he can prove that he’s good no one should have a problem with him playing right?” she rested one hand on her hip and the ball in another before turning towards Lotor. “You can play can’t you?”

What kind of question was that? He’d been using his families membership down at the country club to practice in their gymnasium every day since the semester had started, ever since he’d found that social standing was attached to such a skill. He’d been coached; trained, and he was already dribbling circles around middle-schoolers, sinking shots from beyond the free throw line. Of course he could play.

So why was it so hard to get the words out right now?

He mentally slapped himself. She was a curve ball in his plan, but not an undecipherable one. It may not turn into the spectacle he was hoping for, but he could still smoke the schoolyard chumps in a two on two without relying on her all that much. Maybe after that they’d challenge another pair, then another until he’d proven just how much better he was than everyone else on the court.

“Of course.” He answered cockily looking up at the girl. He threw himself upwards from the bench, copy of Byron already perfectly tucked on the middle of the table, marking his territory.

“Excellent!” she said flashing a toothy smile as he walked up to her. Something still felt off, he was looking directly at her grin, noticing the new burgeoning two front teeth and still missing lower left canine. Why…

He looked upwards as the nature of his discomfort began to dawn on him. He looked upwards. He looked up…He was looking up. He had to look up. There was a gap between the pair, a breach of protocol in one of the things that mattered more than any other to all fifth grade boys. An annoying four-inch divide that set his 10 year old inner ball of frustration and insecurity a broil. She was taller than him.

Why should it matter? Of course it didn’t matter! It meant absolutely nothing in the long run did it? He was still better than her! A few measly inches didn’t matter...Of course it did, this was the basketball court, for kids his age height was everything on the court. He blinked instinctively, the unconscious action snapping him out of his first existential crisis. His face flushed once again as he prayed she hadn’t noticed him staring so jealously at her…height.

He quickly yanked his head away from her smile and spread his arms in mock invitation.

“Well, who’ll step forward first? Laurel or Hardy?”

Hah. Classic reference. Worth a mental pat on the back.

Throk snapped his fingers at his friend Haxus and motioned towards the court while the others tossed their bags onto the bench and silently dropped themselves onto the grass, playground protocol adhered to.

The cocky smile returned to Lotor’s face. She may have been taller than him, but he could most certainly still outplay her; astound and stupefy her along with the rest of the court with his skill and wit.

“You’re not honestly going to play like that are you?” she asked suddenly. “Catch.”

“Huh?” so much for wit. He snatched a dark blue hair tie out of the air just as it flew past his face. Allura tossed her own bag beside the others and began collecting her snowy mess of hair into a massive ponytail. She rolled her eyes at his confusion.

“For pity sake, tie your hair back,” she said with a hair tie of her own in her mouth.

He did as he was told. Calm, collected, focused, he couldn’t afford to get himself riled up; especially not before such a big schoolyard matchup. Flicking his own ponytail behind his head he extended one leg down at a perfect 45 degree angle and bent his arm down alongside it, stretching out before the game. Allura followed his lead; pincering one arm with the elbow of the other and pulling it across her chest as far as it would go.

“Ok, you can work the outside and I’ll take the paint…because I’m taller.” Yeah, she’d noticed. With an excited clap of her hands, a few spirited skips forward and a playful smile back at her new teammate Allura wandered towards the basket.

“Check,”

Lotor almost stumbled backwards as his new opponent fired the ball at his chest with all his pent up resentment would allow. He’d caught it with a surprised grunt as he tried to find his way back to the present. He turned the ball over in his hands a few times. It was Allura’s, not an orange regulation like the other’s or the country club liked to use but shaded red, white, blue and smooth as a newborns skin. Apparently Allura had been inclined to keep it just as clean. It looked rough and worn, but there were no nasty black or grey smears one might expect to find on such a ball.

He flipped his palm and dribbled the ball against the schools green asphalt court, listening to the hollow ring as the ball collided with the ground…one, twice, three times.

He snatched the ball on it’s way back up and tossed it to the boy in front of him. Without taking his eyes from Lotor’s he let it fall into his hands, and the game began.


	2. 2 On 2, Street Rules

Street basketball, pickup basketball, basketball amongst a couple of angry kids out on the concrete turned out to be, without the sleek, kempt maple tiles underfoot, brightly lit gymnasiums, and the half interested face of his decently compensated trainer looking down on him, an incredibly exhilarating affair.

For all his prattling about the animalistic intelligence of his peers, as soon as he dribbled the ball against the ground he felt something steam up inside of him, like he was a kettle begging to sing. He leaned in, preparing to break around his opponent and he felt the blood rush through him. With a swift and speedy duck to the right and three swift steps he was well inside the three-point line, his opponent rapidly shuffling his feet to keep up with him.

Without thinking he stopped, pivoted on one foot, leaned back and released the ball.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he how obvious it must’ve been to anyone with half a brain that he was showing off, but for a brief exhilarating moment as the ball tumbled past his dumbfounded enemies face, and as the adrenaline surged through his blood with all eyes on his shot he was on the top of the world.

The delicate thud of the ball that barely clipped the far side of the net instantly torpedoed him back to planet Earth. Lotor took a step back as he landed, ignoring the sight of the Allura limberly forcing herself into the paint and snatching the ball on its way down. He rested his hands on his hips as he gazed at the iron rim. True, he’d never even made the shot before…not even in practice. So maybe a fade away jump shot just inside the three point line wasn’t the best way to start off the game. Still…he was pretty sure he should’ve been able to hit that.

“Heads up!”

The ball returned to the side of his face with all the grace and delicacy of a stray artillery shell. He suddenly found himself on the ground looking up at two foreign hands clasping themselves snugly around the loose ball.

“Hey, hey, hey!” came the jeers from the sidelines as the boys hooted and hollered at him. “Lookit this schmuk over here!”

“Pretty sure I’ve seen brick walls with better reflexes!”

“What’s the matter? Your elven eyes not pick up on that one?”

They really liked this Lord of the Rings joke.

Through the ringing in his head he heard the clean noise of a ball tumbling through net.

A friendly hand soon filled his vision and pulled him to his feet. Lotor blinked instinctively a few times, wincing as every movement on the right side of his face caused something else to throb or twitch even harder. He lifted a sleeve to wipe away the sweat and tears as quickly as he could, blinking a few more times, if only to make sure the organ was still working properly.

Allura bent down to meet his gaze and looked at him with concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeahuh,” It almost sounded like a coherent word. It was still just a little hard to tell with the groggy vision.

“Good” she smacked him, (with the front of her hand no less) gently across his forehead and it was if the fog was suddenly lifted from his eyes. He stared back at her delicate, pointed eyebrows in shock.

“Where are you looking?” she demanded quite angrily before he had even a second to blurt out an angry retort. “I thought you said you were good at this!”

“I am, I am,” excuses ran through his mind. He felt his gaze attracted back towards hers, as if her azure eyes had a magnetic grip on his own. He opened his mouth once again, but no words came out.

“Well, get your head in the game or we’re done for.”

It had been a long, long time since he’d felt himself getting this angry.

As their opponents finished accepting the adoration of their crowd with all the pomp and ceremony that a pair of 5th graders could manage, Lotor approached the 3-point arc with all the grace and poise it took to awe the bystanders.

He squared off with the other Throk once again, their positions and expressions directly opposite of what they’d been a minute before. His opponent tossed him the ball, Lotor tossed it back, and the game resumed.

He crouched down, bent his knees and clutched the hem of his shorts, for what practical purpose he had no idea, but the high schoolers in the gym had certainly seemed to find it useful.

The sound of the ball’s hollow bouncing hit his ears as he directed his focus to his opponent’s feet. Instinct kicked in as he spread his arms wide, preparing to block his opponent no matter which way he dodged.

The boy dove forward. One feint, a step back, sudden drive right, feint number 2, a flamboyant spin he’d probably seen Allen Iverson do on cable the other night. He stopped, hands flying upwards with the ball just in time to avoid a swipe from Lotor’s nimble hand. Lotor wasted no time, as soon as the boy had been forced to come to a complete halt he took one gainful stride forward to get a hand in his opponents face.

He wasn’t quite fast enough. The second boy had dashed away from the paint behind him, and a split second later Lotor saw the ball flying in between the gap he’d created between his knee and greedily outstretched arm.

Haxus caught it and spun around, leaping into the air not a moment too soon as the ball spiraled over Allura’s outstretched arm, turning end over end and towards the metal rim. It was a poor shot, with careless form and a bad aim ensured that it hit the middle rim and ricocheted back towards the paint.

He was underneath the ball within seconds. Legs left the court and arms reached for the sky as the ball came hurtling back down towards Earth. An instant later a shoulder checked itself into his ribs. His eyes glanced to the right only too late to see the rest of his opponents body slam into him and knock him clean out of the air and back onto the concrete he was getting so well acquainted with.

In a real leagues referees handed out fouls for actions half as egregious, but this wasn’t a professional league. This was the schoolyard, where fouls all depended on the goodwill of the crowd and the opponents sense of fair play. Two commodities which seemed to be in short supply on the court at the time.

From the ground Lotor fumed as he watched the boy land in slow motion with _his_ rebound in hand. A number of pallid allegories of fights between good and evil tumbled through his brain before becoming smothered in a fresh wave of blind rage.

Somewhere deep inside his head, somewhere deep between choral scales and his multiplication tables something snapped. All of a sudden he didn’t care if the others were trying to bait him, he didn’t care that Allura was four inches taller than him, and he most certainly didn’t care about the hoots and hollers coming from his jeering audience or the enemy in front of him pulling up for a jump shot.

Before Lotor knew what was coming over him he was back on his feet and in the boys face. With one downward swipe of his hands he spiked the ball out of the air and followed it as it shot from the ground and launched skyward once again. He snatched it from the air and clutched it close to his chest, elbows flared in either direction daring anyone to trying and snap it from him again.

He landed outside the three point line, resetting the position. He turned and all of a sudden his calves tensed instinctively as his opponent came rushing back at him, eyes looking wide and wild. His legs bolted right, before the toes of his feet found the asphalt and launched him in the other direction. He darted left as fast as he possibly could like a rocket. His opponent barely caught the switch in time and shuffled left to keep up when Lotor came down on his feet once again and juked right. The boy legs pivoted in the other direction in an effort to keep up. The instant he noticed he’d been tricked he found himself trying to move in two directions at once and he tumbled to the ground.

The others stared on, frozen in place as they watched him delicately line up his shot. His feet slid in front of him, he leaped, back straight, arms pumped and with a flick of a the wrist on his dominant hand at the top of his flight he let the ball fly towards the hoop, just as he’d practiced time and time again.

For a second there was noting, and then the next nothing but the swish of his net hit his ears.

A painful silence, that kind that only passes over disgruntled and increasingly cynical sports fans passed over the court. It was the kind of silence Lotor had been hoping for. A space in time in which he would not so much make the school boys swallow their pride but force it down their throats. Yet, for the present he was simply lost in his own world, burning off the high he’d just experienced as the adrenaline ran its course through his bloodstream.

Only the sudden outburst from his teammate snapped him out of his daze.

“Fantastic! Absolutely fantastic!” giddy compliments poured from her mouth as she skipped excitedly over to him. Her dazzling eyes were practically sparkling as she bounded to a stop…very, very far inside his personal space. She flashed her toothy grin, stretching from ear to ear and raised a copper hand even further towards him.

High five? She seemed…juvenile, just like the rest of them, the ten year old thought to himself. She was bold and confident, but with a definite air of naiveté. Her seemingly prim and friendly veneer seemed to be underlined by fiery and wild spirit. Just like the rest of them? Maybe. As he raised his own palm he couldn’t help but let a small smile escape his lips.

Over the coming decades he would attempt, on multiple occasions to recall the events of that game. Yet, he could recall little beyond that moment. The roaring pack of wild school boys, the adrenaline fueled jump shots, the pulse pounding last second instinctive pick and roll play that had probably led to a win, all these moments faded into the shadow of one memory. That was the day he’d met Allura.

The moments after the game he could see with greater clarity. The pack dispersed using the cold and cloudy October afternoon as an excuse to leave without their tails tucked between their legs. Allura had bid each one of them farewell with a smile and polite wave until it was just the two of them.

The autumn air nipped at their skin and a slight drizzle began to fall over the court. Lotor slipped on his purple jacket of some obscure vaguely Italian brand. Allura ventured over to the schoolyard bench to gather her belongings as well and picked up his book. She smiled as she slipped on her own hooded blue coat, running her hand over the title.

“Don Juan? Aren’t you a little young for Byron?” she asked cheekily. The question caught him off guard.

“I most certainly am not.”

Not to far in the distance, beneath the brick extension that housed the schools large furnace vents two black and white cats from neighborhood watched them contentedly from beneath a hole in the warm brick wall as their tails swished back and forth.

“Oh really? That’s funny you don’t look like you could handle Mark Twain.”

Now that was completely uncalled for.

“Oh and I suppose you can?”

His sarcastic tone was back, but there was a smile on his face. Books. He could discuss books.

“Yeah, I’ve got a copy back at home,” she picked it up and smiled at the cover, the dignified gaze of Lord Byron stared beyond her and off into the distance. “Father used to read me passages from his poetry to help me fall asleep. Isn’t his death just the most romantic thing? Oh to die in a foreign land.”

She read the look on his face and answered the question she guessed was on his mind.

“Alfor, Alfor Altea. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” It was a comment made purely out of curiosity he was sure…they both seemed to have rather extensive vocabularies.

Altea, now there was a name, a decently rich family by almost any standard. Perhaps not as obscenely rich as his own, and certainly not part of the older old money, but well respected amongst the community nonetheless. He had heard of them of course, and a dozen questions crossed his mind.

“Your father read it to you?”

A crimson wave crossed her copper skin. Damnit! Of all the questions in the world why did that have to be the one that spilled out of his mouth before his tongue could stop it?

Allura looked abashed.

“O-of course he did. Why?”

“My reasons are my own,” he sniffed airily.

Se rolled her eyes at this one, even the cats by the brick furnace seemed unimpressed as they continued to watch the two children with faint disinterest. Damnit, he really might’ve gone to far with that one. He reached behind his head and undid his hair, subconsciously fiddling with the tie as he folded his arms in front of him.

Allura sensed him pull back as the bravado vanished from his stance almost all at once. She smiled once again. Her expression lit up so brightly it might’ve parted the clouds on the foggy autumn day.

“Hey! You can come over to my house and borrow it if you’d like.”

This was a first…

Oh how they’d talk and gossip. There was sure to be a scandal. The (undoubtedly) richest 5th grader visiting the house of a very well to do, very well connected beautiful girl after the most magnificent round of playground basketball the far side of the Elementary school had seen in decades. Sharing stories, reading histories, tragedies, romances and comedies. It honestly didn’t sound all that bad.

Then he could invite her over. Take her to see his families…he brought his mind to a pause.

“No I can’t. I’m busy.”

“Oh,” it was dull and hollow response. They broke their gaze and began scanning around the grey cloudy landscape, looking for somewhere, anywhere else to rest their eyes. Allura pushed the ground with the toe of her boot as she cast a tentative glance back at him. “Are you parents really strict about it then?”

“Y-yeah.” He stuttered out, thankful to her for giving him an obvious way out.

It was a lie of course. Like his parents gave a damn anymore about who he brought over. His eyes flickered back towards her face, eyes settling on her dejected features, and a sudden wave of guilt washed over him, feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut. She rolled the ball towards her person with her foot and flicked it into the air with the toe of her boot.

She began with a resigned sigh that for some strange unexplainable reason, cracked him to the core. Right then and there he formulated a response to whatever her new sentence might’ve been.

“Well don’t go breaking the rules on my…”

“What my parents don’t know won’t kill them though will it?”

A new expression overtook Allura’s face, and Lotor took delight in seeing her looking flustered for once as he took her hand. The look turned to glee as he tugged her along across the grounds with the damp grass and sod in the air and fall leaves bending listlessly in the wind.


End file.
